


quiet and empty bodies

by orphan_account



Category: Joker (2019)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-24 01:48:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21091373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Bruce is all of ten years old when he grasps at Arthur's wrist and demands to be kissed.





	quiet and empty bodies

Bruce is all of ten years old when he grasps at Arthur's wrist and demands to be kissed.

Arthur doesn't kiss him, at first. Bruce is so newly ten that there is still a slice of birthday cake (_Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte_, from the European bakery next to the First National Bank of Gotham) in the freezer. Bruce will not eat it because he wants the memory of his birthday to be tangible. He cannot take the memory of his ninth birthday out of the freezer and turn it over in his hands, because his ninth birthday was spent in class, learning how to dissect a frog. The memory is potent, but the frog is gone.

Arthur will not kiss him, now, because he wants the memory of Bruce to remain frozen in his mind: sweet and a little bitter, like Black Forest gâteau. Bruce is fiercely intelligent and cool to the touch; he dresses smartly, in designer brands and exotic fabrics, and can fluently speak three languages. He was not born out of wedlock to a single mother. He did not worry about when his next meal would come, or whether he would have a roof to sleep under that night. He did not suck his first cock when he was seven.

Arthur does kiss him, later. Bruce is still ten, with a child's natural curiosity and a bespoke desire to know everything about everyone. He doesn't ask for permission this time, simply takes Arthur's face into his hands like they are lovers and not brothers and kisses him - softly, at first, with little hesitation but much care, then harder, as if his body is reacting before his mind, when Arthur opens his mouth up to him. They spend nearly an hour kissing on Bruce's preposterous King-sized bed, Bruce unable to keep his hands to himself, Arthur too afraid to do otherwise.

-

Bruce is blunt. That, too, is easy to perceive as childish, but Bruce was taught social tact, and knows how to weaponize it. When he cares to put in the effort, you'd walk away from your conversation with him thinking that you'd just talked to Thomas, instead. Arthur doesn't expect the effort - encourages Bruce to slump his shoulders. actually - and so he understands that Bruce is blunt because Bruce is Bruce.

"You had an erection when we were kissing," Bruce proclaims, slightly smug, after dinner. Arthur had boxed up the leftovers (Chinese takeout, because Bruce enjoys the uncomplicated, almost cloying sweetness of orange chicken sometimes) while Bruce washed his face and changed into his pajamas, and had just entered Bruce's bedroom to bid him good night.

After a long moment, Arthur confirms, "I did. Where did you learn that word?"

"My biology text book," Bruce answers. "You had an erection because you were being sexually stimulated."

"I don't remember being taught that in school."

"I go to a better school than you did. But you were being sexually stimulated," he repeats. "Because we were kissing."

"Yeah," Arthur says ineloquently.

"I had an erection, too," Bruce informs him, looking awfully proud of himself. "But," he adds, face falling slightly, "my book talks about ejaculation. I tried making myself ejaculate, but nothing came out."

"You're too young," Arthur says. "In a few years - um - something will come out."

"Do you ejaculate?"

Arthur is not a father, though he would like to be, someday. And Bruce is not his son, though the thought makes Arthur happier than any other. But Bruce has arrived at that tender age where sex is exciting yet terrifying, and Arthur would be a poor role model if he didn't answer Bruce's questions to the best of his ability.

"Yeah," he says again.

Bruce lets the pause extend until it becomes uncomfortable, in the naive hope that Arthur will elaborate. "Oh," he says, finally. "Can I see?"

-

Bruce is fascinated by Arthur's cock. Arthur is already half-hard when he takes off his pants and rests on Bruce's bed - they've situated themselves so that Arthur is propped up against Bruce's lavish collection of down-feather pillows, Bruce facing him Indian-style - and Bruce stares at it, hard, until Arthur begins to squirm. He can't unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth well enough to ask Bruce if he wants to touch him, so Bruce takes the lead once more, crawling into his lap and kissing him.

Arthur's response is immediate. It had been nearly a week since they'd first kissed, and Arthur hadn't been able to stop thinking about it. Bruce's mouth would be foamy with toothpaste in the morning, and Arthur would want to swipe his tongue along the seam and corners of his lips to clean the excess. Bruce would kiss Arthur's cheek good night, and Arthur's cock would begin to swell between his legs, the heat of his mouth so close that Arthur could smell his breath. Bruce would politely spit a sliver of bone into his napkin at supper, and Arthur would want to fall to his knees and beg Bruce to spit it into his mouth, instead.

Bruce breaks away from the kiss after a minute, pulling back to stare at Arthur's cock, now fully hard and pearling at the tip. "Is that ejaculate?" Bruce asks him.

"No," Arthur croaks. He clears his throat. "It's - it comes out before ejaculate."

Bruce looks utterly bewildered. "Why?" he asks more insistently.

"I don't know," Arthur confesses. "It just does."

This is, Arthur realizes, an unsatisfactory answer. Bruce does not enjoy the ambiguity derived from a lack of knowledge. He believe that anything of this world is able to be disambiguated, if only someone takes enough time and effort to do so. And Arthur knows that he is right - there is knowledge in a book, not particularly obscure or arcane, that explains what pre-ejaculate is. In fact, said knowledge is probably contained in many books.

But Arthur was never one for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "The Holy Hour" by The Cure.
> 
> This is being written for Friend. You will come to understand what Friend specifically requested once I finish this piece.


End file.
